when you need me
by EvanesDust
Summary: "After the nogi— You said if I ever needed—" Derek can't stand to hear the pained emotion in Stiles's voice, so he speaks up promptly to reassure him. "Yes. Yeah, of course. My door is always open. You never have to ask," he says softly, meaning every word.


A knock at the front door of the newly rebuilt Hale house wakes Derek from where he'd fallen asleep on the couch watching TV. With a groan, he sits up, feet hitting the hard floor with a dull thump. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the glow of the television.

For a moment, he just listens for who's at the door. The erratic heartbeat is familiar. Stiles. Walking across the room quickly, Derek wonders what's wrong, and why Stiles is here. It shouldn't surprise him at all when Stiles pushes past him as soon as the door is open. Derek just watches him stalk over to the couch, falling into it, face first.

"Why, hello, Derek. Thank you for opening the door for me, Derek. And at-" Derek glances at the time glowing on his DVD player- "2 o'clock in the morning, no less. No, please, don't mind me as I make myself at home," he deadpans once he's sure there's no threat. Stiles doesn't smell scared or worried. Just..._tired_? Chemosignals aren't an exact science, but he could tell from the brief glance he'd gotten when Stiles brushed past. The slightly sunken eyes of too many nights without sleep, rumpled clothes that could be from just being shoved in a drawer after being pulled out of a dryer. It's more likely from tossing and turning all night. Derek feels safe in his assumption.

"Sorry," is muffled from the couch cushions and Derek watches as Stiles pushes himself up on his elbows. "Can't sleep." _Point for keen observational skills, Derek._ Stiles suddenly looks sheepish, and it makes Derek walk over immediately to sit on the armrest. He reaches down and places a hand on Stiles's shoulder, squeezing gently, urging him to continue. "I just, uh, I remember you said that if, uh—" Derek can hear the click in the back of Stiles's throat as he swallows thickly. "After the nogi— You said if I ever needed—"

Derek can't stand to hear the pained emotion in Stiles's voice, so he speaks up promptly to reassure him. "Yes. Yeah, of course. My door is always open. You never have to ask," he says softly, meaning every word.

"Cool," Stiles whispers, and Derek would be lying if he said he couldn't hear how that one word was so full of relief.

Derek leans forward towards the coffee table, reaching for the remote. He tosses it to Stiles, who catches it easily. "Put something on while I grab us some drinks and popcorn." Because that was the promise. After the trauma of the nogitsune, Derek told Stiles if he ever had trouble sleeping to come over and they'd hang out, watch movies, play games— Anything to keep Stiles's mind occupied.

Not wanting to leave Stiles alone for too long, Derek moves about the kitchen with quick efficiency, grabbing their drinks while the popcorn pops. With his arms filled, Derek goes back to the living room, setting the glasses on the table and the salty snack between them. "Lemme guess… Star Wars?" he asks, though a quick glance at the TV tells him he's correct in his assumption.

"The fact that you even had to as—"

"Yeah, yeah, just shut up and eat your popcorn."

The pair watch the movie in silence, which is odd to Derek, seeing as how Stiles almost always provides colorful commentary. One glance out of the side of his eye tells Derek that the movie isn't providing the wanted distraction. But maybe distraction isn't the solution.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Derek knows that Stiles sees a therapist, but there's only so much Stiles can say to someone about what happened. Which, in turn, limits the amount of help he's genuinely able to get.

With his offer, it's like the floodgates open. The words spill from Stiles's mouth almost faster than he can comprehend. "Whoa, whoa…" Derek removes the bowl of popcorn from between them and slides next to Stiles. His hands come up, gently cradling Stiles's jaw as his thumbs rub his cheeks. "Take a breath, Stiles."

Stiles does, and it pains Derek how shaky it is when Stiles exhales. "Sorry," Stiles says, hand wiping at the tears that have welled up in his eyes. "I just—" And he's off again. Slower this time and Derek listens to every word as Stiles explains the fear he has of falling asleep and waking up somewhere else. The fear of being trapped in his own mind as he was being possessed. The fear of hurting people.

Derek reaches out and holds him when the tears fall faster and faster, as sobs wrack Stiles's body. He continues holding him until Stiles finally calms down. As Stiles's breathing evens out, it's clear that he's fallen asleep. Derek holds him as his own eyes close, and he lays them down, stretching out on the couch, falling asleep himself.

It should be weird in the morning, waking up wrapped so close together, legs intertwined. But Stiles's eyes blink open as Derek stares down at him, and Derek's surprised by the easy smile on his face. "Good morning," Derek says, voice rough from sleep. "You okay?"

He grunts when Stiles readjusts himself, crossing his arms on Derek's chest as he rests his chin on his forearms. "Mmm, much better." The weight of Stiles over him is a comfort, one he very much wants but has always been afraid to act on. It seems Stiles doesn't feel the same apprehension. At least not anymore. Not when Derek feels him push forward a little, and suddenly there's a press of chapped lips against his own. "Thank you," is said quietly, and Derek watches Stiles's eyes searching like he's waiting to be pushed away.

Derek's lips quirk up in a shy smile as he tightens his hold on Stiles, making it clear that he won't let go. Not ever. And if the bright smile he gets in return is any indication, it's clear that Stiles understands.


End file.
